What You Do At Night

I know who you are.
You Pretty Princess, you Helen, you Idol,
strutting the halls with your sway.
Your grin.
Your bright eyes.

oh, And I Hate You.
I hate all of you, every smile, every word, every step.
All of it.
Because I know what you do at night.

All alone in your room
curled into a miserable ball
at the futility of life.
In the sun, you laugh and you smile,
and they fall at your feet in worship.
Oh, and I hate you.

If only they knew what I knew.
That you feel Caged, Locked away
Imprisoned behind this fa├žade you made
Trapped behind your faceless face
Your lifeless eyes
Your hollow laugh.
And I hate it all.
Because I know what you do at night.

Hiding in your own,
screaming at the moon for Meaning
For Purpose
For a Face
for a Name you can say.

I could tell them, you know,
and watch them Sneer at you,
Glare down their long noses at you
and call you the Dirt that you are.

Or maybe, they'd Love you a little more
Hold you a little closer
Show you the Light you've been Dying for.

Oh, but you're too Proud for that, aren't you?
Too great to be Flawed, to be Human.
Too high to be Real.

And I Hate You.
Because I know what you do at night.

And I Know Who You Are,
But you don't know, Do You?
And maybe nobody ever will.

So she wipes away a tear and powders her nose-turning from the mirror to smile at the world